"Why not both?" The jaunty answer, and the pull of his lips up to one side more notable than the other. "Though I hear I'm great at being annoying, myself."

He steps forward, crashing down through the foliage with the cultivated grace of an angry bear, and the expression of an resolutely unaware rich young master. He's seen enough of them to cop the silliness of moving like one, expecting the world to respond in one way, finding it responds in others and not choosing to acknowledge them.

"Ladies!" He calls out, "Mistresses of Laundry! I come seeking your guidance and services — ah, you're not busy, I trust?"

Scuffing right into one of the lines of whatever ceremony they were holding, expression convincingly unperturbed by his own action. The nearest of the women lift eyes and hands, grimacing and fluttering them in dismissive ways.

"Later," one says, "We might assist later, this isn't the time, why are you here?"

"You shouldn't be here."

"We have our own needs to tend to, minstrels aren't required, you'll be tended and fed tonight as always, Bard Wei."